But Jacquelina! the effect of the tragic tale on her was nearly fatal. She understood the catastrophe, as no one else could! She knew who struck the fatal blow, and when and why, and under what mistake it was struck! She felt that another crime, another death lay heavy on her soul! It was too much! oh! it was too much! No human heart nor brain could sustain the crushing burden, and the poor lost elf fell into convulsions that threatened soon to terminate in death. There was no raving, no talking; in all her frenzy, the fatal secret weighing on her bosom did not then transpire. * * * * * Before the day was out the whole county was in an uproar. Never had any event of the neighborhood created so high an excitement or so profound a sympathy. Great horror and amazement filled every bosom. A county meeting spontaneously convened, and handbills were printed, large rewards offered, and every means taken to secure the discovery of the criminal. In the deep, absorbing sympathy for Marian's fate, the sudden death of Professor Grimshaw, and the reasonably-to-be-expected demise of old Mr. Cloudesley Willcoxen, passed nearly unnoticed, and were soon forgotten. Among the most zealous in the pursuit of the unknown murderer was Thurston Willcoxen; but the ghastly pallor of his countenance, the wildness of his eyes, and the distraction of his manner, often varied by fits of deep and sullen despair, excited the surprise and conjecture of all who looked upon him. Days passed and still no light was thrown upon the mystery. About a fortnight after the catastrophe, however, information was brought to the neighborhood that the corpse of a woman, answering to the description of Marian, had been washed ashore some miles down the coast, but had been interred by the fishermen, the day after its discovery. Many gentlemen hurried down to the spot, and further investigation confirmed the general opinion that the body was that of the martyred girl. * * * * * Three weeks after this, Edith lay upon her deathbed. Her delicate frame never recovered this last great shock. A few days before her death she called Miriam to her bedside. The child approached; she was sadly altered within the last few weeks; incessant weeping had dimmed her splendid eyes, and paled her brilliant cheeks. "Sit down upon the bed by me, my daughter," said Edith. The child climbed up and took the indicated seat. Something of that long-smothered fire, which had once braved the fury of the British soldiers, kindled in the dying woman's eyes. "Miriam, you are nearly nine years old in time, and much older than that in thought and feeling. Miriam, your mother has not many days to live; but in dying, she leaves you a sacred trust to be fulfilled. My child, do you follow and understand me?" "Yes, mamma."